


Bleeding Out Our Youth [ENGLISH VERSION]

by raynesevenx



Category: Black Veil Brides, Wretched and Divine: The Story of the Wild Ones - Black Veil Brides (Album)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Dystopia, Legion of the Black - Freeform, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raynesevenx/pseuds/raynesevenx
Summary: The world ceased to exist, only the cinders remained.
Relationships: Andy Biersack/Matt Good
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	1. And then I lost it all

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Bleeding Out Our Youth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061759) by [raynesevenx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raynesevenx/pseuds/raynesevenx). 



> Hi! This is my post apocalyptic Black Veil goodsack fanfic. Just a warning, the chapter includes some major description of death punishment to anyone who might be sensitive to that.

A cheer of the crowd.

How could they be looking forward to somebody’s death?

A shitshow.

That’s what it all was about.

All about making them give up, obey the rules of this world-nonworld.

Showing them where their place was.

That no one would listen to them anyways.

No one would follow them.

He wanted to run into the crowd, stop it all, turn the tide.

But he couldn’t.

It was too late.

He wasn’t able to make it on his own and he couldn’t risk his friends’ lives.

Why did he want to see it all though?

Was it about some- any kind of support?

_Till death do us part._

These words were meant to be a joke, long ago, back in the Desert.

When was that?

He wanted to go back there.

_We have gathered here today to bring to justice…_

Shut up.

_The rebel known as The Marauder_

Why did it hurt so much?

_You’re never gonna leave your Potterhead phase, are you?_

And to think that they made use of that stupid red and gold scarf the other day.

_Who commited the sin of disobedience towards the Lord…_

Marauder… He shouldn’t be there.

On the wooden dais, faded, held by two Shadows wearing black gowns, waiting to be hanged.

He didn’t belong in there.

_This violation results in an absolute punishment of death…_

He could only hope the man wasn’t aware of what was happening.

_…Cautionary to anyone tempted to follow in his path._

Cheering.

The nails digging deep into his shoulder, as a warning to stop him from doing anything.

It was too late.

_Come on, you know it’s over. Don’t risk your life, they’re gonna hang Matt anyways._

Why did he still believe in the ideal?

Was it because of love?

The stupidity of youth?

Or maybe he still had hope there was a way to change things.

His name, a scream left somewhere in the back, trying to catch him as he ran towards the dais. So what they were wanted, he had to try.

He didn’t think of any consequences, stupid, risking the others’ lives. They already ran away, if everyone got caught, the rebellion would end for good.

He looked up at the gallows, even though the wind blew hair onto his face, as in favor so he didn’t have to watch the scene.

He could only hear the thud of the lever being moved before something knocked him to the ground.

He looked up, at the body convulsing in death throes, maybe still alive, hanging five feet over the ground, _cautionary_ , The Marauder, Matt, the love of his life.

The only person that made him feel that the rebellion, the rebellion of The Wild Ones made sense and had chances to succeed.

And now it was all over.

He lost him, he lost him irretrievably.

Things were supposed to be okay, it was all supposed to be okay.

The sudden wave of rage that they took his love, his bestfriend, partner in crime, the only person he truly cared about, away, made him break away from the Shadow’s embrace as the creature was trying to hold him face down in the sand.

The Prophet, the most wanted rebel was finally caught, on the exactly same day as the execution of the other of those filthy traitors. Or so the Shadow thought.

The tie-wrap serving as handcuffs on the boy’s wrists, tying his arms on his back, broke with a crack as he successfully fought to free his hands.

The last glance at the gallows. Did he scream? He couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t see his boyfriend’s face either, it was covered with a canvas bag, but he had no doubt who it was.

The “Blasphemy” tattoo on his left wrist gave it away.

They both got these long ago, back when time still used to flow normally and rebellion was just fun.

Why did it lead to this?

Why did things have to be the way they were?

_Are you mad?_

These were just memories, he was sure of that.

But even though, they were still vivid, real.

Matt wouldn’t want them to give up.

Not when they came so far.

He didn’t notice when he tripped over his own boots.

It was far away from the town though, no danger of the Shadows catching him before he managed to get up.

But why did the hole had no bottom?

Another trap of F.E.A.R.?

Well, if so, it was quite cozy.

He blinked, surprised, seeing the canvas ceiling of the tent above him.

His ribs still hurt from falling down the roof the other day in town.

Matt was peacefully asleep by his side, there was a calming sound of crickets outside.

Everything was okay.

A bad dream, he told himself.

A bad dream or… a prophecy?

What if it was a prophecy?

  
  



	2. Last rites in a lost city

_Tampa, Florida, November 1999_

Every rebellion has its own beginning. It comes from somewhere, suddenly, unexpectedly - or maybe it’s always been there? Creeps from the abyss, from hiding, to the light, finally, not forced to hide anymore, to wait for the perfect moment.

So it comes, throwing the old world order upside down, breaking, burning the rules, as if they never existed.

Sometimes it is a revolution we are all familiar with, a loud one that impacts everybody, changes the whole, begins a new era and sometimes…

Sometimes it starts slowly. One by one. Clichéd. Unseen, so to speak.

The only and biggest issue with cargo pants was that when you finally threw yourself on the bed, the fabric went all the way up to your knees.

Or maybe this thing happened only when you were 6’4? When no one would dare to be insolent towards you.

Cargo pants.

The dream of every fifteen-year-old boy from Bloomingdale.

To make it even funnier, all the students (except for the fucked up ones, as every single one of those fifteen year olds would say, even though they barely learnt to swear out loud two years ago) concordantly hated the school.

There were many reasons for that.

The plans to force the students to wear uniforms, smoking behind the gym hall being banned, just like having your hair longer than Justin Timberlake. And, of course, it couldn’t be bleached, contrary to the singer’s hairstyle.

In addition, showing feelings in public was against the rules too. So was makeup (applied to girls only, because no respectful man would even think of putting cosmetics on his face), underground bands playing shows at school so as not to poison young minds with filthy ideas. And wearing cargo pants, too.

Matt, one of the many fifteen-year-olds from Bloomingdale, broke four of these rules daily, which made him feel really proud. Teenage rebellion? Maybe.

He wanted to add breaking the fith rule to his precious little collection, namely his band, First To Last, playing a show at school (he was going to join Fetus Destroyer in three-years time, which would be his pride too), but that had to wait for now. The band existed for barely a week, they didn’t even have any songs on their own, except for the cover of Limp Bizkit’s “Re-Arranged”, that they tried to polish up. Too bad, Matt sounded out of tune in the chorus, apparently, according to Scott. The bassist wasn’t any better at singing, but if Good told him that, he would have to say goodbye to the boy, who’d treat it as a deadly offence and just leave the band. So he didn’t tell him. Yet.

By the way, the choice of the song wasn’t accidental.

The first page of a newspaper basically said Limp Bizkit were accused of inciting riots, in the music video. They, First To Last, wanted the same.

That’s how teenage rebellion worked, apparently, based on the constant need to behave against the rules everyone, especially the boring adults tended to set.

The “blame” in the music video weren’t accidental either.

The amosphere in the world got really tense lately.

Teenagers were becoming more and more sassy, the old ladies complained. The art was bolder and bolder, the critics would cringe. The music was more and more obscene, MTV presenters claimed.

There had to be a beginning of it all somewhere. Right?

And there was.

The end of the millenium made people scared of whatever was coming next. There were speculations about the end of the world, claims that as soon as 1999 came to an end, the computers wouldn’t make it, wouldn’t automatically switch to the year 2000. Did anyone ever consider that at the programming stage?

The fear led people to one place.

Towards each other.

There were less than two months left until the end of the year and the events that took place, started to become more and more obnoxious. The aunts who hadn’t spoken to each other for ages would suddenly made up and invited each other for Thanksgiving dinner, there were people giving out religious leaflets about the apocalypse in the streets.

There was the other side to the story too. A fashion designer, that’s not been seen by anyone for over a decade, used the social unrest to build her empire. Matt’s mother mentioned that the woman appeared in some TV series once, but that happened way before the boy was even born. Meaning it had to be the beginning of the 1980s, the end of the 70s.

Cecelia Harris.

Wearing her hair short, looking like “The Judge Judy”, whose (Cecelia’s) parody appeared in the music video of the cover song First To Last were working on for the past couple of days.

The woman in the front row, smirking as she watched the filthy band who apparently only did damage and incited riots, drowning.

An irreverent warning to not mess up with them this way, cause they didn’t care about the apocalyptic vision of heaven in which children were made believe only to end up scared?

And the metaphor at the end, meaning that maybe the disgusted adults thought they got rid of the problem, but in reality they forgot about the consequences. That was to say, given that the man lived as long as he was remembered, the legend of an apparent rebellion, as the press in the video claimed, was going to last on the CD which, along with the snap back, was left in the now dry capsule.

Perfect.

The video fascinated Matt just as much every time he saw it on MTV.

He wanted to be able to do things like that, to inspire people to stop being afraid of the fairytales they were being told (like come on, it was the end of the twentieth century, there had to be just a bit of a civilisation progress made), to make them stop listening to Harris and people like her.

Harris.

She used the human fear to build her empire. She considered herself to be a prophet, it seemed, appeared on TV regularly, in talk shows, preaching her bullshit about the end of the world and converting back to the truth by leaving the temporal joys, keeping your mind in control (instead of allowing it to wander freely on the malefic fields of creativity, as she referred to it). Music, art, fancy clothes, especially among the youth, were the main reason for the world’s depravity. The mess needed to be cleaned up, which she aimed to do.

She’s just old and mad, Matt’s father tended to say just before changing the TV channel. The boy agreed with him and didn’t care much about Cecelia Harris or her apocalyptic prophecies. These only served as ignition to do things against the woman’s preaching, which in this case meant smoking behind the gym hall, wearing eyeliner (when his father couldn’t see it), having his hair longer than Justin Timberlake, much longer - the long streaks were inspired by the legendary Kurt Cobain, with the only difference being that they were always clean and brushed most of the time. And he wore cargo pants.

The precious pair of trousers, found at the mall just a few days ago for the money which he was supposed to save up for a new guitar, but the fashion changed, green camo fabric, matched perfectly with the black and blue sneakers and metal band tees.

The pride coming from owning the pants didn’t last long, as ealier that week the headteacher announced a ban of wearing cargo pants and then proceeded to punishing anyone who didn’t follow the rules.

Matt didn’t care much, he planned to drop out as soon as possible, but he already had to listen to his parents’ complaints about how he was supposed to be a decent man, not a part of the dregs of society, so he was not allowed to wear the cargo pants to school no matter what.

The boy rubbed his eyes, trying to wake back up, to start working on the “Re-Arranged” riff again. It didn’t sound particularly good on the old Stratocaster he owned (a memory of his Nirvana phase), no matter how hard he tried.

Thankfully, he didn’t tell his parents that he had kissed another guy the other day. And that he was bisexual.

If he did, it could really mean an apocalypse and not the one Cecelia Harris was talking about, but the one of his father.

Being grounded for a month wasn’t an option when your band was just starting.

_Cincinnati, Ohio, November 2006_

“What the fuck was that supposed to be?!”

Andy cowered in the backseat of his father’s old dodge, looking outside at the landscape passing by, certain that he wouldn’t manage to choke out an answer. Everything was so fine just a moment ago, he felt like he could do anything, the euphoria… Euphoria he felt because the instigation worked out, it was supposed to go down in history. And it made him feel good. Just a moment ago.

Going down in history, but at what cost?

They were brave, unstoppable, they made it, just for a split of second.

And now?

Now the makeup that was supposed to make him look like Edward Munch’s “Scream” seemed ridiculous. He wanted to cover it all, hide somewhere, away from the world.

The unexplained anxiety creeped from the space between the car seats, where it had been hidden until now, feeding off crumbles accumulated there for years, wherever the hoover couldn’t reach while cleaning.

He wanted to throw the black cape he was wearing, off, take it off from under the jacket but at the same time he felt like he couldn’t do it.

Somehow the piece of fabric gave him strenght, the remains of strength he needed to survive confronting his furious father.

Chris had every right to be mad. But it wasn’t Andy’s fault that the headteacher decided to call his dad in the middle of the day, with no warning, forcing the man to leave work. Only to pick his wayward child from school, even though Andy had a driving license and a car.

The chevrollet that was starting to fall apart, was now parked in the school parking lot, which was going to become empty soon enough. If things worked out, Chris could drop him off there in the evening to pick the car up and not be forced to take the bus to school the next day. Andy didn’t think he was able to stand a bus ride and not go crazy, honestly.

The people, unknown people, an impression that they were staring at him, as if he was attracting attention, even though it was all imaginary. He couldn’t take something like that.

“I’ve asked you a question” there was anger in the words, an anger that Chris failed to hide. Besides, he always screamed. Since Andy could remember. Getting mad over every single minor inconvenience.

“I-instigation” Andy mumbled, not daring to look at Chris. He hated fights like this, there was no way to stop them. Chris had to take it all out on somebody, scream it all out before he could finally shut up.

“Instigation?! You fucking brat!!!” was what the younger Biersack got in response, making him cower even more in the seat, hoping they could reach home as fast as possible, even though at the same time he wanted the ride to take forever, because he didn’t have the guts to run away to his room at home. Or anywhere else. - “Instigation, imagine that! That’s about it with your anxiety, fucktard! You’re making a freak out of yourself as you please but you don’t care about any anxiety when we have to be ashamed for you and your behavior! You better pray you don’t get kicked out of school for that! You’re grounded until January, I promise you!”

Andy took a deep breath, trying to make it as inaudible as possible, even though his body entered some sort of survival mode. He stopped feeling the hunger that’d been bothering him since morning, only the fear mattered, the muscles tight to the breaking point. He was about to cry but he had to make it through.

Because, according to Andy’s therapist, Chris had no right to yell at him, not like that. There were other ways to explain to your child that they did the wrong thing. Too bad the hardest thing was to convince a forty-year-old who claimed to be infallible in his views that he should change the methods of raising his son.

The anxiety meds… Andy never got them, the prescription ended up in the trash can. _They won’t turn my son into a freak_ or something like that. He didn’t have the guts to tell the therapist about it, not if the price to pay was a family therapy session that wouldn’t change anything and only force him to listen to his parents’ complaining how bad of a child he was. Unlike Chris, his father, whose excuse to everything was that he worked to make a living r the family. As if it was supposed to do the trick.

It didn’t but Andy didn’t have any energy to fight back. Every attempt to discuss things ended up the same. In a fight.

And he had enough of those.

He couldn’t wait to get out of that house. Art was just a temporary runaway, the theater classes in his high school. That’s where he met other outcasts, just like him, who used to get bullied too back in the day, just for wearing black t-shirts and listening to different kinds of music. That’s where he could get his emotions out, to fulfill himself.

At least until the classes got cancelled.

The art messed up your mind, that’s what more and more people used to say, it destroyed the potential of the talented youth.

Try to ban creativity in a high school directed towards careers in theater and the students won’t let you make it out alive.

At least that’s what they thought, back then.

Everything started with small steps. Narrowing down the choice of the plays that were performed every Christmas, same with the teaching material, censorship in scripts and ideas, step by step. And finally, the theater classes.

Peremptorily, one day when the group came to the classroom and the teacher was already waiting for them, helpless against the headteacher’s decision.

The idea to dress up as the most known works of art belonged to Chance.

It was supposed to be an instigation to show the headteacher (and some important showbusiness people who visited the school every now and then to look for the hidden talents, just like that day), how much the students really cared about Harris’ bullshit.

Cecelia became some kind of a guru within the past few years. And, what was even worse, she had quite a lot followers.

Andy had no idea how this happened, but she was able to convince people to believe whatever she said. Two or three Bible quotes did the trick.

It terrified the living shit out of him.

Especially because things were becoming worse and worse.

Movies being censored, not as many books available in the bookshops and libraries as there used to be, the reason for which were the titles that led people to malefic conclusions.

Kicking bands out of tours, cancelling shows for no reason, the music television becoming a breakfast television.

The world was falling apart.

And then they cancelled the classes.

It was an ignition to start doing something to rebel against the situation, to get the resistance each of them held inside, to the outside world.

Each of them, meaning Andy, Chance and Scout.

They decided to dress up, dress up as the most famous paintings, provocatively, especially for those important showbusiness people who were coming to visit.

Breaking into the school radio station to play some songs on the corridors where music had been banned for a long time, putting on the good old Frankie Goes To Hollywood, was one thing.

Relax, don’t do it, like a warning to not mess up with teens.

Dressing up as the works of art was another thing.

Everyone in the theatrical group agreed to take part, so there were many classic paintings wandering around the school in the morning.

They kept the consequences in mind, aware that they’d get caught eventually, but the satisfaction felt sweet.

And so there was Frida Kahlo, “Girl with a Pearl Earring” and “Stańczyk” (court jester), there was Scout dressed up as Millais’ “Ophelia”. For instance. Chance most probably ended getting punished for cross-dressing for his Mona Lisa costume.

And there was Andy, Munch’s “Scream”.

Now he was a scream of distress.

He couldn’t understand this world, the world that refused to understand him too.

Why did some old blonde woman, who looked like “The Judge Judy” that his grandma used to watch every afternoon, care so much about killing people’s creativity?

Was it because she was scared of it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note - the Limp Bizkit video is just my free interpretation so that it fits the story, normally it's just a random video irl


	3. The world will stain us with a scarlet cross

The smell of burnt skin.

“It fucking hurts.”

He grabbed some adhesive tape and bit off a piece. Funny how they first were hurt like that and then left with bandages so they could take care of themselves. Except for sharp objects, of course, he didn’t see any scissors nearby.

“I know, it’ll pass in a moment” he didn’t believe his own words. It usually hurt for a long time, even after the wound healed, but there was no other way to cheer up the terrified, seemingly shocked, black-haired boy.

He saw this guy yesterday.

At first he thought it was a girl, quite a lot of them were brought in here recently.

Black latex (or spandex, if you will) leggins, ripped in a couple of places (on purpose or while an attempt to run away?), teased hair reaching just under the boy’s shoulders. A leather jacket with sleeves rolled up, black paint covering his forearms. Fingerless gloves. A scarf that swept the floor as he was dragged upstairs.

He saw the boy just for a second, before they had brought him inside the building and he was gone.

Later, in the evening, he could hear a scream from the basement, preceded by a bunch of curses towards the oppressors. It died down as the boy was being dragged away from the main part of the building.

“It won’t hurt, will it? Can’t you just kill me?” the black haired boy asked, carefully putting a loose flannel shirt over the dressed wound. He didn’t know the man’s name and vice versa. Why did he decide to help him then? No one could be trusted, especially in a place like this. The t-shirt belonged to the seemingly older man. Dumb luck, he was wearing it under the jacket the day they got caught.

The same scenario, just like when it came to this black haired boy.

The older man winced at the memory of the day he didn’t want to remember.

Sometimes he regretted he agreed to be a part of any kind of resistance, call it whatever you want it. As a sixteen year old, he considered it to be something fun. As a twenty six year old, he realized it meant do or die with no excuses.

On the other hand, he had no choice.

People on the streets stayed away from those like him. Some of these outcast considered it their advantage and just kept adding fuel to the flame. He was just like them.

It wasn’t that easy to get rid of the tattoos. Besides, he didn’t want to do it, even if these were just quotes, lyrics and game characters.

Cutting his hair? It would take less than thirty minutes, but he hadn’t grown it out to just get rid of it now. Also, for some reason it was long again, even though he had decided he wanted it shorter two years ago.

And besides, the moment when your band becomes recognizable, it’s hard to start over.

“If I kill you, they’ll win” he replied, brushing away his way too long bangs.

The black haired boy chuckled and glanced at a hole in his leggins.

There still was some makeup left on his face. Bat-like wings around his eyes, partly smeared, probably from tears. A line on his cheek, just like a football player.

“I like you” he said with a soft smile. His bottom lip was pierced which the older man had not noticed at first. - “And by the way I’m Andy and I was going to start a revolution.”

He chuckled. He didn’t know many people who introduced themselves in the same confident manner, especially in a place like this.

“Matt. And I had similar plans” he replied and leaned against the wall.

_Revolution. And to think where they ended up._

*

The building they were kept in seemed immeasurable. Wide halls turned round the corners to bring one just to the starting point.

Now empty, it must have been a school or a hospital back in use.

No one knew where they actually were.

There were no windows in the van everyone was brought in. The glass in those in the building was blurred with layers of soap, so that it was impossible to look outside and only the light would come inside. Not that they didn’t try to get rid of the layer. They did many times. There was no use, though, the soap was on the other side of the glass.

Andy had spent the first few days in here trying to recover and to understand this hopeless reality he was stuck in.

He knew all the outcasts were kept in the same place for some reason. As if they were someone bad, an enemy. Why? He could suspect people’s madness was to blame. The fanatic phenomenon of Harris’ popularity. She was an.. actress? A talk show presenter? He didn’t remember. She appeared on TV once and started brainwashing people like ten years ago.

He also knew they were allowed to keep their own clothes for some reason. The same ones in which they were brought in here.

He had seen people dressed just like him in the halls, their hair dyed, sometimes colorful. All the alternative youth gathered in one place.

And finally, he realized that Matt, the same guy that had taken care of him and whose shirt he still kept in his room, knew much more about the situation than he did. The man just didn’t seem to want to tell him anything.

He said Andy would find everything out when the time came, because he didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

This sarcastic attitude irritated Six even more. Not only was he locked up in a building with no escape - a mental ward? - that annoyed him enough, but his partner in misery did not make planning the escape any easier.

Not that Andy was able to run away at all now.

The healing but still hurting wound on his shoulder successfully prevented him from making full use of his arm. There was an angled cross burnt there with hot iron, going down from his shoulder under the collarbone. It burnt him all the time, especially during sudden movement. Originally, the cross was going to be situated on the right side of Andy’s chest, but he fought to escape so hard that he broke away from the oppressor’s… guardian’s? - he couldn’t name them - grip.

He knew every one of the outcasts in the building ended up the same way.

But could he trust them?

What if all of this was a trap?

*

“So what are you doing here?”

The question was asked over a bowl of grey substance pretending to be porridge. The long table that reached both ends of the room, was occupied on either of its sides by groups of young people wearing all black. They seemed to be more focused on whispering to each other than eating. Of course only when the omnipresent guardians in black robes were far away. It was astonishing that they were able to run in these and not end up tangled in the cloths.

Some people in the crowd were wearing beige uniforms made of linen. As Destiny, one of the “mentors”, as the people responsible for brainwashing were called here, those individuals had found their life path and got rid of unnecessary creativity and individualism for the sake of the whole and seeing the truth.

Andy couldn’t imagine he would do something like this one day. He didn’t want to do it.

He still hoped to find any exit out of this sick maze, but when he attempted to break the glass window with his combat boot the other day, a guardian started chasing him.

 _That’s good_ , he thought back then, _it means the windows aren’t armored in any way and it’s easy to break the glass._

He was forced to pay the price of lashing for his bravery, the whole top part of his back still hurt, covered in red strips, but at least he knew. The truth, the right one, was expensive, but worth the while.

“Are you listening to me? I’ve asked you a question” Matt snapped his fingers in front of Andy’s face and laughed when Six jumped back.

“They caught me sleeping in the car” Andy answered and grabbed a spoon, trying to force himself to eat just a bit of this grey biohazard shit. The food wasn’t poisoned, at least not when you only ate a little. He didn’t notice any changes in his thinking patterns either, so they weren’t being drugged in here. Maybe the mentors hadn’t come up with it yet. Nevertheless, Andy wanted to be careful.

“As we can see, you kinda look like a homeless emo” Matt said, brushing his bangs away from his eyes. This nervous movement became a bad habit of his, no wonder though, his hair was way too long for him to be able to look at the person he was talking to without an issue.

“Hey, I don’t. Why? Besides, if so, then you look like a no life with no girlfriend whatsoever, who spends his whole life playing zombie games” Biersack bit back. Indeed, Matt reminded him of one of the nerdy guys at his high school when he still had to attend it. People like them were mostly preoccupied with things like that. Or reading some fantasy books.

 _The Lord Of Rings_. He never managed to finish it.

“And you hate to lose. Snivellus” Matt grinned victoriously and crossed his arms.

“Sni… what?” Andy raised an eyebrow. - “Why?”

And at the same time, just after he had asked the question, a wave of anxiety hit him. What if this guy was just making fun of him and didn’t want to become friends? Maybe he was a trap, maybe not? What if Andy had said something wrong and the man was going to use it against him now to ridicule him?

Biersack tried to calm down, but it wasn’t that easy. Not without his anxiety meds, that were left in the car. Since he finally got to take them after graduation, he started feeling much better. And it was easier to stand up for himself, too.

Too bad they seemed to be addictive. For the past couple of days he felt like he wasn’t himself. And besides, they made his paranoia go away.

“Because your hair is long, black and dirty. And you get mad about everything” Matt said. - “Now: Why did you sleep in a car?”

“My girlfriend kicked me out” Andy lied. He didn’t want to tell the man, not yet, that he had come here to start a band, just to annoy Harris and do against her brainwashing advice to people. The answer seemed to have satisfied Matt, because he finally went quiet. Unfortunately, only for a second, because as soon as a creature in a cloak headed towards the table, he started to hum some lyrics to the melody of the funeral march.

_I’ve been dreaming about you_

_In a pool of your own blood_

_With your eyes gouged out_

_By the work of my thumbs_

_The scent of your insides_

_From under the floorboards_

_The perfect perfume_

_To settle a score_ *

The woman wearing a black cloak stopped just by their side, as if she didn’t care about Matt’s cheerful song.

Destiny.

She only glanced at him with pity.

“As if making Andy anxious wasn’t enough, you keep singing forbidden songs” she said. The disapproval in her voice would make a student of an elite high school feel ashamed.

Too bad she encountered the members of the Dead Poets Society.

“I am terribly sorry. Would you rather hear Britney Spears then?” Matt laughed.

“I would rather you behaved like a twenty five years old man should” she snapped and pulled a device that looked like a fifteen inches long metal stick, out of her pocket.

For a split of a second, a shade of fear danced in the man’s eyes.

“I’m twenty six, learn to count properly” he said. He knew what was about to happen and he kind of felt like uncovering the skin on his collarbone, but he wasn’t brave enough. Not when he knew that Destiny wouldn’t stop torturing him unless he begged her to stop. On his knees.

Sometimes he was amazed how come this old bitch (she could be around 50 years old, her brown hair were marked with greyness here and there. She didn’t have a babyface anymore either) kept her powerful position. She was messing with a group of pissed off, kidnapped kids. What would her chances be without this stick?

The stick she stabbed Matt with, right into his collarbone covered with the t-shirt fabric.

And then she electrocuted him.

The volume wasn’t big enough to do some serious harm, it was more to scare the victim, but still he didn’t enjoy the unpleasant feeling.

He stopped himself from whining and calmly waited for the woman to finish, actually amused by Andy’s terrified eyes.

Destiny never wanted to make a scene during breakfast and it was just like that today, so she got bored after a couple of second and hid the stick back into the pocket of her cloth.

“I hope you’ll behave now” she said.

Matt nodded with excess diligence, smiling widely. His knees felt quite weak, that was true, but he wasn’t going to show it.

His gaze followed Destiny until she stopped by a group of girls nearby.

“Don’t cry, Snivellus” he laughed. Andy really looked like he was about to do that.

Biersack rolled his eyes, but took a deep breath and finally managed to calm down.

And then he punched Matt right in the face for making fun of him.

“Has someone ever told you you’re a dick, Potter?” he asked when the man glanced at him from the floor. A sparkle of disbelief and shock in his blue eyes made Andy satisfied.

“You, darling” Matt replied, when he got back up and fixed his hair. - “You’re cute when you get mad.”

—

*From First To Last - Ride The Wings Of Pestilence


	4. Show me your worst, show me you're cursed, tell me the truth

_Andy locked the car and put the keys in his pocket. The sun was setting, the wind started blowing. Sandra had promised to let him crash at her place for the weekend. The boy’s wrecked car refused to cooperate and wouldn’t even start. The drummer, considering Biersack her younger brother, wasn’t going to allow him to stay inside it for the night._

_On Monday Six was supposed to (finally!) move into a new apartment with Jake. It was near to the parking lot, only because Andy’s car was parked close and the engine wouldn’t start. There wasno other reason for that. Biersack was going to get rid of the wreck soon, he just wasn’t sure how._

_He glanced over his shoulder at the black car parked in the shade, then smiled to himself._

_The few hundreds of dollars of all the money they got for making their debut album, was enough to survive and to pay for his anxiety meds. Andy wasn’t haunted by his fears anymore, especially in the crowd, around people. And the band would often hang out in shopping centres._

_To provoke? Partly. The fact that the alternative youth was getting more and more hate, helped the band - Black Veil Brides - get recognized among the outcasts._

_And on the serious note, Andy was able to feel comfortable only around people who dressed like him._

_He brushed a streak of his way too long hair away from his face and kicked a can lying on the pavement. He was in a good mood, maybe because of the pills, maybe not. After all, he was feeling much better than back in Cincinnati._

_Of course, he would still get into the ‘survival mode’ unwillingly and the constant emotional tension was something he could not get rid of, but nevertheless, he was finally able to be himself, without two certain individuals complaining about it, instead of supporting him. He claimed they did, though, whenever someone asked him about that. Domestic issues were to be solved at home and Biersack followed this principle at all times._

_The only thing bothering him currently, was an upcoming spring tour with some well known emo band. He couldn’t remember their name. It was something about starting and ending, first and last things, or similar. He wasn’t sure._

_He was worried he wouldn’t have the guts to say anything around that group and they’d consider him a freak because of that. The chance to become more recognizable with their help would disappear then._

_Besides, they surely were much older, there was no way to get along._

_Andy tended to worry more than he should, he knew that, but it was impossible to stop._

_He sighed quietly and grabbed his phone from the pocket. When Jon told them about the tour, he saved a couple of that band’s songs. He didn’t want to come off as ignorant for not knowing them. To some extent, he also did it out of curiosity, as he had no idea what to expect of their music style. Because - he thought back then - if these guys played pop punk, he had to work on his acting skills._

_He hated that genre._

_He plugged the earbuds in and scrolled down the playlist to find the group._

_Four songs._

_A browser suggestion - “Emily”, something about making notes, a pestilence and a title announcing some ballad about a broken heart or a similar topic - “Worlds Away”._

_Andy realized he forgot to check these songs out back when he had saved them._

_He put on the first one, surprised by the sound of an acoustic guitar and the vocals sounding as if the singer was ripping his own lungs out due to a broken heart, because the Emily was the only thing he ever felt real. Or something like that._

_Biersack bit his bottom lip and switched to the next song, which hit him with a sombre guitar sound and the same broken-hearted vocals. The singer still seemed hurt, because now his roads split off and he was left without direction. Or his life went the opposite way._

_Andy smiled with pity, wondering how old the song was, at the same time happy that he gave up pouring his own suffering into lyrics and instead focused on proving others wrong._

_The next song, about hiding bodies under the floor, made him rethink if he was brave enough to tour with that band. Or more like, he began to question if he would come back in one piece or as the singer’s new suit._

_Though he had to admit the man could scream pretty well, better than him. And now he got scared of having a rival to defeat._

_The fourth song totally confused him. The vocals changed. The singer’s voice was more high-pitched, softer and clearer. Andy liked it more._

_The rivarly standards raised, though._

_Six didn’t get to think about the lyrics, as he reached Sandra’s house._

_Or whatever was left of it._

_The front door was left open, a yellow tape stretched around the building. There was mess inside._

_Someone painted a red, angled cross on the wall, too._

_Biersack stopped, feeling the meds he had taken an hour ago, stopped working._

_He could only hope Sandra was okay._

_“They came for her” a female voice spoke behind him. - “Goddamned deviants. They will come and get all of you. You lack morality, you… you…”_

_Andy turned around to face an elderly woman standing behind a wooden fence of her frontyard. Her perm hair was dyed cherry red and she was sending him death glares, leaning against a flowerbed. She was holding a cell phone, busy typing a number on the screen._

_She placed the device against her ear and Biersack realized why his body entered the survival mode, as his therapist referred to it, again._

_The woman had connected the dots._

_Him and Sandra._

_And now she wanted to report him to whoever came for Alva - when?_

_Andy didn’t want to think about it._

_Sandra’s car was still parked in the backyard._

_The house was open._

_Six was sure she would be mad about it._

_He didn’t know how much time he had, but one thing was certain - he wouldn’t make it far on foot. But where was he supposed to go?_

_He had no idea._

_He walked under the tape and headed towards the front door._

_The inside of the house was quiet and empty._

_Only the hall was a mess._

_Photos, books, bottles. As if Sandra was trying to defend herself from the oppressors._

_Sandra and Ciara, her girlfriend. They shot “Knives and Pens” at her place._

_The two girls lived together._

_And now they were gone together._

_Andy stopped in an empty, clean living room, wondering where Alva kept the car keys._

_Where did girls hide things like that?_

_Biersack looked around the room, fixing his gaze on a chest of drawers by the window._

_The view was going out on the street, so he could see the old lady, still talking on the phone._

_He sighed and opened the biggest cupboard, rummaging through all the things inside._

_Money, candles, a lighter, a set of keys._

_He grabbed it, trying to find the car key in the bunch of others._

_Finally, he managed to._

_He smiled and placed it in his pocket, before grabbing the money and lighters._

_If he somehow found Sandra - he would give it all back to her without hesitation._

_These things were definitely safer with him than in an unlocked house._

_He glanced at the woman outside, who was still talking on the phone, gesturing heavily. He hoped she was just calling a friend with the news of encountering an outcast like him. This would give him some more time to leave._

_Andy headed to the kitchen. He was more familiar with the organization of cupboards in this room, as he often spent much more time in here. Every time he came over, Sandra would teach him to cook._

_He opened one of the cupboards and grabbed a big canvas bag from the inside._

_Then he began to throw inside all the canned vegetables and sweets he found in the kitchen._

_It wasn’t much, but at least it was something and he didn’t know where, when - and if - he would stop anywhere soon._

_He sighed heavily, trying to control his breath, because his heart was about to jump out of his chest from all the anxiety._

_He grabbed the two biggest knives and a pocketknife from the cutlery cupboard, as well as - what he noticed in surprise - a half-empty bottle of the same anxiety meds that he was taking. He must’ve left it here at some point._

_Andy opened the kitchen door leading to the backyard and thanked Sandra for always parking her car behind the house, so that only the front of it was visible from the street._

_He opened the vehicle and threw the bag into the trunk, then placed the knives on the passenger seat._

_He came back inside the house for the final time, to check all the rooms and make sure if anything that shouldn’t be found unwanted wasn’t left there._

_In the bedroom, he gasped at the sight of a colorful flag ripped from the wall. He remembered Sandra and Ciara got it at Pride last summer. He was there too, hoping to find the love of his life and heal a broken heart._

_He folded the flag and placed it in a cupboard, then grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the inside. White Ray-bans._

_Knives and Pens._

_He walked downstairs, trying to shove the catastrophic thinking away. He locked the front door from the inside and walked outside through the one in the kitchen, then locked them too._

_He got in the car and started it, sighing heavily as the second half of “The Great Escape” started playing. Oh, the irony._

_It was the only pop punk song he liked, mainly because he would play it on repeat many times, back when he couldn’t wait for his own “escape” from Cincinnati._

_He rolled the window down, as he was struggling to breathe from the stress. The tires screeched as he drove to the street._

_The old woman’s voice could be heard over the music. She was describing Andy’s appearance to someone. He only hoped she was still on the phone._

_He wasn’t wrong, she was still standing behind the fence. She sent him a disgusted look, so he flipped her off and speeded even more._

_The road was empty, he could go crazy._

_He was wondering if he could manage to get back to his old car and get the meds before running away to wherever possible._

_He didn’t get to answer his own question, as in the exact moment, a fuel light flashed between the counters._

_Andy cursed and glanced in the rear mirror to make sure he wasn’t being chased._

_The road was still empty._

_He hoped he would have enough gas to get out of the city. It would be easier to fill up unnoticed there._

_Or maybe he was wrong?_

_He didn’t have the guts to risk it now._

_*_

_An hour later Andy got to the suburbs. It was completely dark outside and he realized he wouldn’t be able to gas up anytime soon. He realized someone was being searched for. He saw the guards on the streets a couple of times. There were many of them around recently. Dressed like mall security, their presence was never questioned by other people. No one seemed to care who they were and where did they came from. They just got accepted, as the way of things._

_Andy had to turn back last minute many times today, to not get in their way. Were they looking for him? Even if someone else was wanted, Biersack was sure they wouldn’t mind arresting another teenage outcast._

_The world got mad long ago, because of Harris. The woman was just terrified of alternatives to her view of the world, of individualism, simply because bravery followed it. The bravery to destroy her insane plan. That’s why she wanted to fight it._

_Even though Andy still couldn’t understand why people followed her without any criticism._

_He raised an eyebrow at the sight of a building on fire. He slowed down and turned into the nearest street, to avoid it._

_The fire illuminated the night sky, it seemed it got into the nearby houses._

_Six braked suddenly, just in front of a railing on the road. He wanted to back away, but the car stalled up. It refused to start again, even after many attempts._

_Andy cursed and slid the pocket knife into his sleeve, then got out of the car, covering his face with a bandana he was wearing, as the smoke got into his lungs._

_There was a sound of an explosion in the distance, sirens were wailing._

_And then something pinned him to the ground and dragged under the car, seconds before there was another explosion on the other side of the street._

_Andy froze, terrified, even though he wanted to defend himself against a blonde guy still pinning him to the ground. Six could see the bottom of the car above him, illuminated with the shimmering flames._

_He wanted to say something, but the man covered his mouth with his own hand, so that Andy gagged himself with the bandana._

_The blonde guy sent him a warning look. Six stopped breathing and glanced to the side, seeing three pairs of boots marching next to the car._

_The stranger allowed him to breathe only after they were gone._

_“Be careful next time or they’ll get you” he said. He had bleached hair reaching down to his shoulders and he seemed much older than Andy, definitely a couple of years._

_Biersack nodded silently. He didn’t know if he should trust the man. Something was on, a rebellion, at least in this part of the city, even though he didn’t expect it. The afternoon seemed calm._

_And yet. Something happened, resistance, even though small._

_Or maybe the disappearance of Sandra and Ciara foreshadowed something bigger? Were there more people kidnapped and did it motivate the rebels to act?_

_Andy had just lost Alva, he didn’t want to end up alone now, ignoring the chance and letting the blonde man walk away._

_“Come on” the guy said, as if he read his mind and crawled from under the car. Andy followed him and dusted himself off as he stood up._

_He wanted to mention the bag in the trunk, but the blonde man had already dragged him across the street. Did he know where Sandra was? Or maybe she was a part of his group of rebels if it existed? Andy wanted to believe it, but he really doubted it._

_They leaned against the wall and the blonde man carefully looked around the corner, before dragging Biersack down a narrow street._

_Six noticed the writing “I’d rather be a starving artist than a wealthy critic”* painted on the back of the man’s jacket._

_Mood, he thought and smiled to himself._

_The older man stopped for a second, so Andy did too and stood silently behind him._

_The blonde guy glanced around and began to walk forward, nodding at Biersack._

_They were now walking down a street of detached houses. The older man slowed down, he seemed more tense too._

_His gaze was fixed in one point, which turned out to be a car parked by the pavement._

_They walked up to it and Andy surprisingly noticed the windows were rolled down._

_The blonde guy sent him an innocent smile and, as if it was nothing, opened the door and got inside._

_Six saw the man leaning towards the passenger’s side. Then he unlocked the door on that side too._

_“Get in before I change my mind” he said. Andy didn’t need to be told twice, he quickly sat in the passenger’s seat._

_“How come you just…” he choked out, noticing a key hanging from the ignition._

_“It’s a long story” the blonde man replied. - “But since you’re here with me anyway, it doesn’t seem like you’re going to rat about it. And if you try, I’ll kill you, so I can tell you, why not?”_

_Andy swallowed heavily at the threat, but nodded._

_The older man placed a streak of hair behind his ear and started the car._

_“Long story short, we all hate Harris equally. I hope you do too. So we decided to annoy her a bit with my friends group. Of course, that was a couple of years ago. Some of us were in bands, so we managed to “incite the youth”, as she would say. Recently we’ve switched to throwing bottles with gasoline at the guards. Actually, just today. Hence the fire.”_

_Andy nodded in silence. He understood the blonde man, or at least he thought so._

_Black Veil mainly wanted to awaken creativity in people too. It seemed like they were successful in it. How come they were allowed to go on tour with such ideas?_

_Well, Harris seemed to want to keep up appearances of normality and to make changes and mess slowly, so that one day people ended up caught in a trap they got themselves into. Andy had realized it long ago._

_“And now? Where are we going?” he asked._

_“To get some food” the blonde man replied, as if nothing happened. - “Wouldn’t you like some pizza?”_

_“I don’t want to bother you…” Andy said hesitantly, glancing at the worn out cowboy boots he was wearing._

_“You got in the car with me, what am I supposed to do with you?” this sounded like Six was an additional problem to the blonde man, so he didn’t reply._

_He just shrugged and jumped when the older guy put the music on._

_Coal Chamber and their “Loco” broke the silence, while Andy curled up more than he already had._

_“Don’t tell me you’re not into nu metal” the blonde man groaned. - “You’re not very talkative and I don’t like awkward silence. Unless you have better ideas. What bands are you into?”_

_“Kiss, The Misfits, Motley Crue” Andy listed, as if he feared to get ridiculed for his preferences._

_“A pussy in latex leggins, fair enough” the blonde man concluded. - “You’re not that bad. You could always listen to My Chemical Romance. And this would be terrifying” here Andy stopped himself from saying that band wasn’t that bad after all. - “By the way, you look like you’re into their music. Maybe you’re lying” the older man laughed._

_“No, I tried, but I never really got into them” Andy shrugged. - “Careful, there was a guard on that street.”_

_“I’m always careful” the blonde man grinned and reached towards the dashboard to change the song. He didn’t get to, because at the same time he noticed a dark sport car in the rear mirror, just behind them._

_He cursed and speeded up._

_The other car was left behind, but only shortly, so the blonde man stepped on the gas more aggressively. Then he turned left suddenly, almost falling out of the road._

_Andy grabbed his seatbelt tightly, hoping he’d survive this mad drive. He could still see the front of the car chasing them in the rear mirror._

_His new friend seemed to have fun though, he was driving faster and faster and he put some music on too._

_Six had to admit it helped him to calm down a bit._

_Maybe Phil Collins wasn’t really that much metal, but Andy didn’t mind it._

_He only wanted to get out of this chase._

_His dreams were destroyed with a sudden jolt._

_He glanced up and noticed their car skidded sideways. They were trapped in between black cars from both sides of the road. One of them was the same that chased them._

_“What now?” he asked, wondering how to get out of this situation._

_“Now? Now we’re waiting” the blonde man replied and placed his hand on the wheel. Andy noticed he grabbed the keys with his right hand, too, as if he was going to start the car rapidly in the least predictable moment._

_And indeed, as soon as a guard that got out of one of the vehicles, walked up to their car and demanded rolling the window down with a gesture, the man twisted the key and backed off archway, tires screeching._

_The guard screamed something and ran up to them, standing in front of the car, waving his arms._

_The blonde guy switched the gear, shook his head to get the hair away from his face, smiled and drove right into the older man._

_The guard rolled up the car mask and the front window, Andy screamed before he managed to stop himself and the blonde guy turned the vehicle rapidly and drove on the pavement by one of the black vans on the road._

_Andy was still shocked from the fact they ran a human down, so he didn’t pay much attention to the shots and the car skidding suddenly._

_He glanced in the side mirror and then at the blonde man, whose face expressed panic for a split of second._

_Everything was happening in slow motion, the remainings of a tire on the tarmac, the car losing speed, the guards chasing them._

_So they got caught._

_Their hopes were gone._

_“I’m sorry we didn’t make it” the blonde man said suddenly. - “At least Matt will be excited to see me again.”_

_Matt._

Matt.

The guy sitting next to Andy, clearly bored with the content of one of the many talks they were being brainwashed daily in here - where? They had no idea.

“A lie” Destiny’s voice carried around the room. - “Is a simple way down the filthy road of losing oneself in life. All it takes is doing it once” she put her finger up in a warning gesture. - “Once! If you choose its convenience over the truth, you’re gone.”

Andy couldn’t focus on the woman’s words. The distraction wouldn’t pass since he was forced to stop his meds, so he was unable to remain concentrated.

He lost the track of time. How many days passed since he got broght in here? He had no idea. He didn’t understand the reason why he was here either.

Destiny tried to explain it to them the other day. During meetings like this, lasting from early mornings until the noon, she attempted to brainwash the whole group. Music was bad, art was bad, so was creativity.

Any exception from the set standards carried a threat of a moral loss.

They were supposed to become the best version of themselves here to - one day, when they were ready - create a healthy community. Community, not society. A keyword. There was no escape from this place.

And so during the past dozen of meetings that poured into one continous talk, they deeply discussed - or listened to Destiny’s monologues - every possible aspect that made an individual independent and the poor consequences of it.

Now they reached the topic of a lie.

“What do you think, will they try to make us unlearn to read?” Matt asked, leaning towards Andy in one of the rows of young people sitting on the floor. He made use of the moment, because Destiny was currently facing a blackboard, writing with a chalk on it.

LIE - SIN

\- he read and burst out laughter he wasn’t able to stop.

The mentor turned around, alarmed, before Andy managed to respond.

Matt sent her an innocent look, but the woman narrowed her eyes and put the chalk away.

“Good” she hissed, boring into him. For some reason, she loved calling people by their last name. - “You lied again.”

“Me? I would never, ma’am!” the man placed a hand on his chest. - “How could I dare…? When a lady is around?”

Biersack tried to keep a deadpan face. It wasn’t easy, even though Matt’s personality annoyed him most of the time.

Someone in the distance laughed without a warning.

Destiny glanced at them for a second, before fixing her gaze on Matt again.

“You don’t know many things yet, Good” she said coldly. - “A lie can be spoken, like saying it instead of truth on purpose, no matter if it’s nothing or a big matter, as well as pretending to be innocent when one knows well the reality is different.”

Matt rolled his eyes. He doubted anyone in the room (except for those cunts who lost the ability to think independently) bought this cheap propaganda.

“Suck my dick, you whore.”

Andy was almost certain Good said that. His feeling of consciousness must have been disorted, because Destiny turned the opposite way.

“Could you repeat?” she asked, placing her hand on a metal stick by her waist as a warning.

“Suck. My. Dick. You. Whore.” Andy followed the sound of a male voice with his gaze. A familiar male voice.

A guy. A couple of years older than him.

He had bleached, yellow hair reaching down his shoulders. For some reason, he reminded Biersack of a drug dealer now.

Destiny unhooked the stun gun from the dress she was wearing and made her way towards the man across the crowd.

He glanced at her, amused and crossed his arms. Andy could see a scar going from under his tank top - a cross burnt with hot iron.

“You can give me head” he smiled, but Six noticed his muscles got tense.

And while Matt let out a “Travis, you fucker” with disbelief, Destiny walked up to the blonde man. He punched her right in the face. She swayed, dazed, dropping the metal stick to the stone floor with a loud bang.

The blonde guy - Travis - kicked it away for a safe distance and got ready for another hit, to confound Destiny even more, as if he knew it wouldn’t be easy to trip her over. A woman’s balance was in her hips and he knew that well, so he left that move for the grand finale.

“Get him!!” Destiny screeched at the guards in robes, who made their way towards her from their usual positions by the wall.

It didn’t take more than ten seconds before they grabbed the blonde man. He didn’t manage to break free, despite many attempts and cursing.

Destiny leaned down to grab her stun gun, while the crowd sat there frozen. From a couple of tens of people, no one dared to help Travis, whose bunch of curses directed at the woman broke the tense silence in the room.

Andy grabbed Matt’s t-shirt when the man wanted to get up and help - his friend, or so Andy thought if he knew the blonde’s name.

Biersack couldn’t lose him.

Even though Good pissed him off all the time.

Six glanced at Travis kneeling in front of Destiny, looking at her with rage in his eyes, his hands tied behind his back.

He bent a bit when the woman tased him, but he didn’t drop to the floor.

He only laugh and spat in her face before the guards dragged him outside.

“He’s never going to change” Matt sighed. Andy could see he wanted to run after the three, after Travis. But was it worth it?

In Six’s opinion, no.

They were supposed to survive and try to get out of here. Not end up caught as soon as possible, only because they wanted to act heroic for a moment.

“A lie” Destiny screeched. - “Does not suit a decent human being.”

Andy sighed and leaned his forehead against Matt’s shoulder.

He was sick of listening to this old whore.

On top of that, as if he didn’t have enough things to worry about, the fact that Good did not push him away, made his stomach flip. He was falling for the man and he hated it.

The last thing he needed was the inability to think straight because of some sarcastic emo guy. What was worse - the said sarcastic emo guy was handsome.

Andy closed his eyes, shutting Destiny’s voice off. He was getting more and more sleepy and he would have fallen asleep if a tingling sensation on his wrist didn’t bring him back to reality.

He glanced down and automatically moved his arm away a bit, but he stopped when he saw it was just Matt tying a thread with beads around his forearm.

Andy bit on his lip, trying to stop a smile and glanced at the black tread wrapping around his wrist a couple of times.

Black, grey and blue beads surrounded a cat figure hanging in the middle. The pet was similar to the ones shop owners would place on the cash desk for winning streak.

Andy blushed slightly. Matt sent him an innocent smile and placed a finger on his lips.

And then he turned to the front, to face Destiny, pretending he was deeply focused on her speech.

——

*From First To Last - Elvis Said Ambition Is A Dream With A V8 Engine

I made Ciara up ofc :)

  
  



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